What kind of Hell is this?

If anyone knew the lay of the land, it was Wilder. Having spent most of his puphood wandering the different territories of Boreas and Auster, he was certain he could guide anyone anywhere. So when he and Ollie approached this... new area that he had never seen before in his life, he was taken by surprise. Certainly something this menacing sticking out from the ground would have been noticed before. Peering up at those metal spires with their etched runes and rusted edges, these things clearly weren't sparkling new.

He can't help the way his ears fold backward and the hair along his spine bristles. Not only had the mountains been trembling, threatening to cave in, but the sky was bathed in crimson, scouring sun in blood. What was going on? Looking around, almost wildly, as if he was a pup once more, he tries to quell the quickening of his heart.

"Logical answer is sink hole," his tone is clipped, but not toward Ollie, but more so toward the spikes that the Armada's healer wanders toward. "Don' touch 'em," Wilder warns, making sure to stay close enough to the smaller male in case something menacing decided to pop out.

"Wilder"